As Your Mind Tries to Run, She Turns to Ash
by Lenore483
Summary: Tom reflects on his life, and does everything he can to avoid thinking about her. Tomoine One shot


**A One shot that has been sitting on my Computer for years. Came across it and figured I'd just post it as is. Might rewrite it at a later date, some stuff that annoys me about it, and some things I would have done differently now. But being Tomoine I felt like I just _h_ _ad_ to post it.**

 **Xx**

* * *

Tom was impeccable as always, perfection impersonated. He was wearing the Hogwarts uniform, the green of his tie being caught up in the slight green tint to his black robe. It was all crinkle free, and stayed that way even if he was torturing someone. That thought made him smirk slightly with a laugh that was more like a scoff than anything else. His hair was styled in the right fashion, worked into a state where it seemed elegantly tousled without seeming improper. Down on his finger was the family ring.

Slytherin's Heir.

That fact still made him smile full on. Finding out his mother came from the Gaunt's was not a happy realization when he saw how pathetically weak they were through the last reminder of his family, his horrible uncle Morfin.

It was however satisfying to find out that they had descended from the magnificent Salazar Slytherin, one of the four founders of the school that taught him all about magic. _Especially dark magic_ a satisfied voice added.

It was even more rewarding to find out that Salazar had left what you might call _gifts_ to be used by his descendants, especially the Basilisk down in the Chamber of Secrets. Just last year he had released the giant snake on the school, only letting someone else take the blame because they would close the school if the 'attacks' didn't stop, like anyone would be sad to get rid of a mudblood.

His thought process stopped there, going immensely more dark. If anyone had been present they would have covered away at the dark look that crossed Tom Riddle's elegant features. His eyes glinted with warning and something more dark, giving them a red tint. It was like a shadow had come over him, giving way to thoughts he never permitted anyone to even think he had.

He twirled the ring around his finger absentminded, not really thinking about what made him do it. A nervous tick perhaps, one that he must have picked up at the same time as he picked up the ring.

His mind was almost completely blank, trying not to think of what could make him miserable. The Slytherin common was completely deserted Tom noted somewhere in the back of his mind. Why was that again? He didn't really care where they were, more how much longer before their insufferable presence would be bearing down on him again. The dark look was still prominent on his chiseled face, making his features stand out more than they normally did.

It was like someone had lit a lumos underneath his chin, sharpening his face to look like one out of a horror movie.

The common room was quite pleasant when no one else was around, the glimmer from the Black Lake making it seem eerie and gloomy, which was more often than not, the perfect feeling to accompany him. He looked around the room, noting the things people had left, it was by no means messy, the Slytherins were above such things as filth after all, not something that could be said for Gryffindors.

 _One twirl._

He knew that if anyone would dare try and approach him now, he could always just call on one of his stupid followers, they always did his bidding. Following him around like an annoying cross between sheep and dogs.

 _The Knights of Walpurgis,_ he had only called them that because they felt like they were so much better, so much _more_ than anyone else at the school, except of course Tom himself, and that meant they needed a name.

He found the idea ludicrous as they were merely puppets there to do his bidding when he pleased. But he let them have the pleasure, something that surprised and delighted them. He had cursed them after that because of their 'joyful boisterous expressions that reminded him of Gryffindors'. He had explained this calmly to them when they were became coherent after his little wave of the cruciatus curse.

Of course the ever charming prefect, and now Head Boy, Tom Marvolo Riddle would never let them fully realize the notion of a name like that was ludicrous, because that would be hazardous to his future plans. And nothing, not even the annoyance of having to play along with people's foolish expectations, would stop his plan. He let them have some joy so they wouldn't be foolish enough to step out of line, although he quite enjoyed 'leading' them into the right path again. A person who didn't agree with him was nothing to be bothered with after all, you just had to bend them to you.

 _Two twirls._

He had already made one Horcrux, the Diary. It was even easier than those stupid books described, but the people writing them were lesser men, lesser _Wizards_ than him, so he shouldn't be surprised. He had to suffer through the idiocy of his peers every single day, he didn't think that their predecessors were that much better. Only people like Slytherin himself had that immense power.

He was not as great as Tom though, he had never made himself immortal.

Immortality was the one thing that possessed his thoughts most, it was his most basic drive, an urge to go beyond what those fools he had to associate himself could even begin to grasp.

Immortality always lingered in his mind, and he was one step further with the diary. There was another thing that crept up in his mind at the most untimely times, _her_.

 _Three twirls_.

He noticed a flickering in the air before him taking some sort of form, and his eyes snapped up to the movement, his fingers grasping at the armrests of his chair while he leaned forward peering at what it was. This was unknown magic to him, something that was a rare occurrence, almost impossible to happen in fact, and it made him curious.

When his eyes found black robes with a red tint, a tie in Gryffindor colors while moving up to the face of the person before him.

A mess of hair and a petite beautiful face…

He jumped back when her attention snapped to him, making his chair tumble over backwards, sending Tom a few steps back in a crumble on the floor.

He could hear footsteps, but he realized it was more like his magic could hear them, not his ears. It made him shiver uncomfortably and he had to force his fear down. He almost growled at the thought, he was never afraid, but this was impossible. _It couldn't be!_ His mind screamed at him, but his senses showed him otherwise, the truth would be easily known to him if he just looked up, but he didn't want to confirm his thoughts.

Still he looked up, finding _her_ face.

Her eyes were closed, like in prayer.

"Tom" again, he felt it more than he heard it. Her voice was a whisper, a murmur, a blessing. He never knew until now how much he had missed it, knowing that no other voice could affect him like this, make him shudder. He hated this feeling with a passion, nothing should make Voldemort feel fear, or belonging, or worse _empathy._

"But-" he cut himself off, unsure of how he could handle it, handle her presence. She was looming over him, he needed to touch her he decided. He would just touch her, or maybe he should pinch himself, see if he was awake. Then he remembered how he had tumbled backwards and how much that had hurt. _No he was definite awake._

He stood up on shaky legs, oh how ironic that it had always been the other way around. He was never the one to cower before anyone. No, he was always the one inflicting fear. He was sure the pain he felt was worse than a crucio he cast at someone, that this pain would linger longer and more relentlessly. He would never be able to stop this pain after all, of that he was sure. Pain like this was only associated with _her._

"I-" again he cut himself of. His left arm stretched out to her, but he didn't want to confirm his suspicions. Her form was not that of a ghost, but not that of a human either. Her presence seemed more forced than anything, like he had dragged her from the grave. The whole thing just seemed so irrevocably wrong!

It seemed he could only inflict her pain. He alone was responsible for her tears. He had learned early on that the only thing that could make her cry was the things _he_ had done to her.

… In the past and the future.

Before his fingers reached her he was reminded the last time he reached for her, in much the same way.

" _. -no-no-no-nononono NOOOO!" he wailed, running forward, trying to grab her before she hit the floor, like that was the most important thing, like she wasn't already…_

 _The small thump was the only sound as her body fell limply to the floor. Such a quiet whimper, so insignificant for someone as important as her. It wasn't a finality like in her novels, one that seemed epic in the face of it all. The sound had been so silent he wouldn't have heard it if he hadn't been paying attention._

 _He stopped a step before her, breath caught in his throat as he was towering over her small frail form._

 _She laid there, not moving, not even a slight twitch. Even in this state she had this natural beauty that radiated from her, but it seemed to slip away. Suddenly it seemed like a gust of wind hit her, taking the last trace of her natural beauty, leaving only stony beauty behind._

 _Marble, that was what she had said when she caressed his cheek the first time, and then giggled at the glare he sent her. Now he understood her fascination for marble skin, but on her it looked morbid, unrelenting, merciless, cruel, brutal, just plain wrong! He didn't understand how she could find something like this so appealing on him._

 _Her skin was supposed to be a slight cream, like the crust of a sweet apple pie! Or umm, you know something that didn't sound that girly…._

 _She had always smelled of apples and ink, an odd mix that would never fit on anyone but her. It made her that more special, that more magnificent in his eyes._

 _And her eyes was this warm chocolate and caramel brown, radiating in an array of different colors that changed with her mood, the light and the seasons. Her hair had the same colors, changing with seasons as her eyes did, always in this odd symphony. Her left eye always had a tint of happiness in it, her right a tint of sadness. She was unexplainable, an angel sent to smile upon the devil._

 _But as he tentatively kneeled next to her, he saw how they were not the same any more. He knew that the trace of yellow that left her eyes as he sat down was from the Basilisks curse. And he reached out for her hesitantly, unsure of himself, just hoping there was a way to go back, to change it._

 _But her eyes stayed the same,_

 _dead._

Back in the present her eyes snapped open, looking at him with the same look she had given him the last time they spoke. This time her voice wasn't a whisper, it was steady, so sure and determined.

"Tom" she looked like she was an instant from smiling, not giving in to it. But he knew it would be a sad smile if she gave into it, not the heartwarming smile she usually reserved for him. One he thought would have left the second she knew the truth about him. But she had already known, and yet she looked at him like his smile made flowers bloom in spring.

And his mind drew back to that day, when he had finally touched her, she was cold.

 _So cold, this wasn't his girl, the one he had held so close. The only one he could ever…_

 _Love?_

 _He couldn't call his feelings anything, naming emotions was a waste, and it didn't give it the meaning it so deserved. Naming emotions was something common people did, the ones that couldn't grasp this eternity of a connection, no mere words could describe them. He had always described them with actions._

 _For the first time Tom Riddle cried. He sobbed over the girl that had been ripped away from him. He was the cause of her death, and he knew he could never forgive himself for that._

 _He had made the Basilisk crawl back into the chamber he now found despicable. The legacy left by his ancestor, now it was just a cruel reminder that what little happiness he could garner in such a cold cruel world would always be taken away from him. Dumbledore would take his pet, and his pet had taken her._

 _What had his actions told her about his feelings the last time they spoke?_

 _He had called her appalling, something no one would touch if they knew her nature, something dirty._

 _Mudblood._

 _He had spoken that word, and when it left his lips he knew it was something he couldn't repent. It was etched into her face, like he had burned it into her, and he had watched with contempt as her eyes filled with tears. She had shut them forcefully, pressing more tears out, letting them spill down her face, when they opened, he saw her resolve._

" _Don't make the Horcruxes Tom"_

" _Don't you dare tell me what to do filthy Mudblood" he sneered down at her._

 _And he had killed her, just a filthy mudblood as he had wanted._

 _But looking down at her frail form he knew he never wanted her death, and when he finally touched her he admitted to himself that there was nothing more to do, it was too late._

 _The last emotion that had showed on her face was strong in his mind, resolve. She knew what she was walking into wasn't she?_

 _He grasped her hand, finding a sheet of paper in it._

 _It didn't say much, but again it said so much._

" _To answer your question, the one that hurt me so bad in my past was called Voldemort. I came back to change it, but I knew that if in the end he took a life with the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets I would have failed._

 _More than anything I failed you Tom, I am so sorry._

 _There is nothing more keeping me here, it might as well be me that gets killed by the basilisk._

 _I will always love you_

 _\- Hermione"_

 _He stared at the paper._

 _VOLDEMORT_

 _His name, his blasted name!_

 _It was all his fault in the end._

 _More sobs broke through and he fell over her crying desperately._

"Hermione" the voice from his memories merged with the one from his present. A broken whimper of his usual smooth elegant voice.

She looked at him expectantly, waiting for his first move. This time it wouldn't be a game of words as it usually was with them.

"I am so sorry" his voice sounded broken, and pathetic. He hated it.

"No" she shook her head sadly.

He looked at her willing her to understand. Finally his hands grasped at her shirt desperately, only it slipped straight through. But unlike touching a ghost there was no presence, only this image, this strange magic. It was static, and so wrong to look at.

"You are already him" she reached out for him, sadness creeping at her features.

He noticed her beautiful plump lips were starting to disintegrate into ash, vanishing in the air.

"No, I would never hurt you."

Now there was a sad smile adorning her face, and he noticed her decay and the way more of her disappeared, leaving only the bone it seemed.

"Hermione please, I never meant to-" he tried searching for words, explaining it to her, how he truly felt.

"I love you"

He finally said it, he knew how much it meant for her, but again she shook her head.

"You don't believe in love Voldemort."

"No, I-"

"I will always be something you hate." She would soon be gone he realized, knowing this time it would be forever.

"No you won't."

Her hands were only bone now, and he saw her organs as well. Her heart, the heart she had given to him, was still in her chest. He so desperately wanted it to beat again.

"Please, don't leave me" he whispered.

Now her smile turned true, the one she saved for him.

"It was never my choice but yours, I would have stayed until the end, but you cast me away, because of that simple word." She walked closer, skin, muscle, organ and bone falling off and behind her with every small step. Little was still left of the clothes, only her face remained somewhat intact, half of it gone, only her eyes and her hair was left unscathed.

"Mudblood." She said, and with that a small swirl of wind encased her, vanishing her completely. The last thing that stayed was her eyes, which would never truly leave him he knew. When he closed his eyes he could still see them on the back of his eyelids.

He sagged to the floor, despair clutching at him.

* * *

The Dark Lord sneered down at Bellatrix who was trembling before him.

"You think I would lower myself to you?"

A flash of brown eyes, that small part of his soul that remained reminded him of warmth and apples.

"Like anyone could ever be my equal" he sneered, the small voice in his head added _no one but her could ever be that._

He threw a crucio at her.

I was entertaining, the only way she could offer him satisfaction. Her screams of agony was the only screams he wanted to hear from her.

* * *

The curses he threw at the mudbloods was a dark reminder of her. It was a punishment for his actions as well as a punishment for her leaving him.

Everyone was battling all over Hogwarts, it would soon end he knew, but he was looking for something in particular, he noticed Harry and his friends.

A curly mess of hair. Her hair.

There was a small ache in his chest, it almost called out to her.

The Horcruxes were in the end a way for him to part with her. The insanity that followed her decaying in front of him was only egged on by the Horcruxes. He had tried to make more of them to separate himself from the part of him that felt for her. Every time he broke off another piece, he hoped it would take away the memories, that reminder of her.

After he killed Harry Potter, the damned Boy-Who-Lived, and he saw a crying face disappearing as the last survivor of battle, snapping away to a different time, to be with him.

Her eyes was the last thing to leave, and he realized that he had been lying to himself all this time. No matter what he did, she would always be a part of him. They were linked together, forever.

In the end, the only one he could blame, was himself.


End file.
